with the fox
nor he with us. all three
still and quiet,
neither approaching
or in retreat.
our eyes though,
do meet
in the amber glow
of
streetlight.
the bloom of our breath
in front of us.
we wait. he waits.
our conversation
interrupted
as we discus the rest
of our life,
together or apart,
that is now on hold
for a minute more.
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